


The White Hand of Moses

by Greenlady



Category: Smallville
Genre: Gen, Post show finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Greenlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the show finale, Clone Lex was left with a blank slate for a mind.  What happened next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Hand of Moses

**Author's Note:**

> I like to write a story on New Year's Eve, which ends with a mystery, or a cliffhanger which is never resolved. I wrote this story on December 31, 2011.

 

*************************************************

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires....

 

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

 

***********************************************

He was old in his Soul, was his thought.  His mind felt blank, but not really, as if it had been scraped clean, but not quite.  No, not quite.  There were thoughts there, growing like bacteria in a dish, if you fed them enough.

 

His mind had been scraped, they told him, in an accident, and now he had to be retrained, re-educated, renewed. And the re-education was almost complete.  He knew how to read, even books with very long words. He knew mathematics – right up to calculus, and a deal of history.  He was almost up to the education level he had reached before his accident. Almost was he ready to enter the world on his own terms, as a young man of wealth and power and sophistication.

 

But he was old in his Soul.  This he knew. He knew there were things he knew that he’d forgotten, and needed to know again, but it was no use asking his current teachers, for that knowledge could not be found in books. He could sense the repository of unknown knowledge lurking just outside of his grasp.

 

_Where the White Hand of Moses from the Bough puts out, and Jesus from the ground suspires._

 

Books.  Literature.  Poetry. The Bible and Myth.  These things spoke to him as though they were keys that could unlock the knowledge sealed in his Soul.  The white hand of Moses.  Moses and the Burning Bush. 

 

_For God told Moses,  “Put your hand inside your cloak.” So Moses put his hand into his cloak, and when he took it out, the skin was leprous—it had become as white as snow.  “Now put it back into your cloak,” he said. So Moses put his hand back into his cloak, and when he took it out, it was restored, like the rest of his flesh._

 

Could God really perform such miracles?  Could one be healed so easily, as a sign for the Israelites? Could he find that repository of secret knowledge?  Could his Soul itself be set free?  Or was it all just a pretty story?  His Soul was old, but his mind was young, very young -- but a year old -- and he could not tell.

 

This was New Year’s Eve.  He, and the World, would be a year older at Midnight.  All the world, it seemed, was celebrating, happy and gay, kissing each other at Midnight. But he was a baby, in his mind, though his Soul was old, and his body that of a sophisticated man in his thirties. And so he’d decided to stay home, here with his books, and think. 

 

It was just before Midnight, just before the start of the New Year.  He turned on his computer – the old computer that had belonged, he was told, to the first Lex Luthor.  The man whose form he now owned, because he’d been cloned from his DNA.  He knew what cloning meant, in theory, but in practice he didn’t feel cloned, he felt real. He felt as though his Soul were old, and he were real.

 

He turned on his computer, and as Midnight chimed – twelve chimes on his clock.  Twelve. And as the twelfth chime struck, an icon appeared on his desktop.  An icon that had not been there but a moment before.  It was a Burning Bush.

 

The bush burned, but the fire did not consume it.  The flame did not spread to devour the whole desktop, it merely burned.  And something told him that if he clicked on that icon, his questions might be answered, and his Soul and mind and body might again be as one, and in tune with each other.

 

He sat before his computer as the World celebrated with a kiss, and he moved his mouse toward the Burning Bush, and he clicked.....

 

The End

 

 

 


End file.
